


Spare the Conquered

by theprydonian_archivist



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Serial: s116: Castrovalva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprydonian_archivist/pseuds/theprydonian_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and the Master quote Latin at each other.  No really, that's the whole story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spare the Conquered

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Prydonian](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Prydonian). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [The Prydonian collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/theprydonian/profile).

Thanks to some quick thinking on the part of the Doctor and the Master, everyone had safely escaped the collapse of the false reality. Nyssa and Tegan, exhausted from the adventure, had retired for the evening and the two TARDISes were once again nestled one inside the other. The Doctor could feel their purring vibrating down his psychic nerve centres, causing his skin to tingle with sensitivity. He froze as he realized that he was running his fingers up and down the Master’s sleeve, thoughtlessly indulging in the tactile delight of soft velvet. 

The Doctor and the Master hadn’t had time for anything more than the most cursory of conversations earlier, and judging from the way the Master was looking at him with steadfast intensity, the Doctor doubted they’d be having a lengthy conversation now either. If he wanted answers, he should ask quickly while he could. He took a half step back, enough to give him some distance to clear his mind, but not so much as to be a rejection.

“Indulge my curiosity,” the Doctor said.

The Master sighed. “If I must, though I’d far rather be engaged in other sorts of indulgences.”

The Doctor ignored the innuendo for now. “Why didn’t you destroy me? You’ve threatened to often enough. I was completely helpless, under your power, unconscious most of the time. You might have succeeded in getting rid of me permanently if you’d had a real go at it.”

“I considered it, you know.” The Master tilted his chin up, trying to bolster the weakness of the claim with the confidence of his posture. “But on reflection, I decided that Vergil had the right of it.”

“Vergil? You mean, ‘ _audentes fortuna iuvat_?’”

“No, not that one.”

“I doubt you were thinking of ‘ _omnia vincit amor_.’”

The Master chuckled. “Certainly not that one.”

“I can keep quoting Vergil at you for the next eight hours, but I thought that you had other plans in mind, so if you’d like to enlighten me...?”

“I would have thought that it was obvious. ‘ _Parcere subiectos et debellare superbos_.’”

The Doctor’s brows constricted in offence. “I am not _subiectos_... _subiectus_.” He corrected his Latin grammar before the Master could do it for him. And he would, too, smirking smugly all the while.

“That is easily remedied,” the Master said, throwing the Doctor down onto the bed that the Master’s TARDIS had conveniently materialized.

Latin poetry was forgotten in favour of less intellectual pleasures. The purring of the TARDISes inside his skull was soon echoed by the humming of the Master as their mouths and bodies pressed against each other. The Doctor let his fingers roam at will, first over the velvet, then stroking the Master’s sleek hair.

When the Master slipped his hand under the cricket jumper, the Doctor sat up, nearly bashing the Master’s nose with his forehead in his haste. “I just thought of something.”

“It had better not be somewhere else you need to be or something else you need to do,” the Master said, latching his hands onto the Doctor’s arms and gripping tightly.

The Doctor grinned. “‘ _Nos cedamus amori._ ’”

* * *

Translations: "audentes fortuna iuvat" = Fortune favors the bold; "omnia vincit amor" = Love conquers all; "parcere subiectos et debellare superbos" = Spare the conquered and crush the haughty (with "subiectos" literally meaning "thrown down"); "nos cedamus amori" = Let us yield to love. And I am sorry, so so sorry for writing a fic with a Latin pun in it, which is probably the height of pretentious nerdity.


End file.
